Mortal Raised (Ever Witch Book 1)

by Kit Bladegrave

  I nibbled my bottom lip, hating that I made him worry so much, but I was doing what I had to do, and that wasn’t about to change anytime soon. “Thanks, Jensen, really, but what I need right now is to ensure Mason eats and we don’t lose the roof over our heads.”

  I patted his hand and made for the employees break room to shove my stuff in my tiny locker and get to work.

  I drained my coffee as fast as I could, surprised when it didn’t burn the roof of my mouth, and found my supply cart to get on my to-do list for the day. I started in the east wing, Jensen in the west, his music blaring from his Bluetooth speaker on his cart was my soundtrack for the morning and set a steady tempo as I polished, dusted, and cleaned floors for the early morning hours. At least I could be happy my only item was no longer toilets.

  Though sadly, those would come soon enough.

  Being at the museum with Jensen before it opened in the early morning or late at night when the last patron left was always my favorite. He would blast music and dance while he mopped, and the two of us would wind up in some sort of silly sing-along.

  Not only that, but he loved history as much as I did. Most of the janitors at the museum couldn’t care less or were so stupid they thought the Jurassic era applied to all dinosaur-like creatures or that Christopher Columbus was from the same period as George Washington. Jensen and I could talk history, and I loved that. Part of me felt he did it as a way for me to keep my brain sharp, and I appreciated having a conversation with someone that didn’t revolve around middle-school math problems, or which superhero was better.

  Two hours into our routine, I breathed deeply as I unlocked the doors to the museum to let the next round of staff inside.

  The five curators arrived on the dot every morning. That was my goal, right there. That’s why I wanted to get a degree in history. I wanted to work as a curator. To be paid to study history. To give insight on the museum. To travel to obtain knowledge. Be in charge of keeping everything preserved for the next generation, and the next after that.

  That was the dream, and if it meant working myself to death, I was going to make it a reality someday. If Mom had been the kind of parent to hold down a job, maybe then I could have already been putting money aside for college.

  At the time, all of my money was going to bills. I would find a way someday. I was sure of it.

  TWO

  EVEREST

  The museum was open early and closed late. There were three different shifts available. Most people would work just one shift or two, back to back. That day, I worked first and third, so I had taken the bus home to take a long nap, take care of some chores, before returning for the night shift that started in the evening, a few hours before the museum actually closed.

  The night shift was fun, and I was working it that night with Jensen as I had worked first shift with him that morning, so I was not about to complain.

  The first few hours of night shift included a few people with nothing else to do with their evenings other than traipse around the museum. The last several hours were clean-up duty. Sometimes night shift wasn’t dull if there was an evening event going on—that was always fun. Not this night though.

  This night I was just hanging out with Jensen while checking on all the exhibits and occasionally pausing to have a conversation with the night security guard, Hank. He was younger then Jensen, and was always up for a good debate on what would’ve happened if specific events in history turned out differently.

  Jensen and I were in the colonial exhibits when he asked me about Mom.

  I winced, glancing around to be sure no one would overhear me. “Still gone and I’m still finding bottles everywhere. Can’t believe she managed to hide so many for this long.”

  “I’m sorry you got to deal with that.”

  “Could be worse, I guess. At least I’m not finding drugs everywhere,” I muttered with a shrug. At least not yet was what I should’ve said. “It’d be nice if she’d at least send word that she was breathing.”

  “There’s a point in time when you need to let someone else know about this,” he replied quietly. “You know I’ll never report you, but there’s always a chance someone else might.” He frowned as he leaned on his broom. “If it gets that bad, I just want you to know that I have an empty house, plenty of room for you and Mason.”

  It wasn’t the first time he offered to take us in, unofficially, but we were both worried about what type of red-tape that would mean in case Mom did come back to the apartment to find it empty and her kids moved in with an old man who had no blood relation to us whatsoever.

  I always appreciated the offer, though. I’d be eighteen soon enough, and then it wouldn’t matter as far as I was concerned.

  “I know and thanks, but we’re okay for right now. No one else knows she’s gone.”

  “Keep it that way,” he urged. “You okay on money?”

  “Fine, Jensen.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. If you need anything, you better damned well ask me. Living off of coffee is just as bad as running on no sleep,” he scolded. “Can’t believe a mother would leave her kids like this.”

  “I’m used to it, really I’m fine. We’re fine.”

  “What have you been telling anyone else who asks where she is?”

  I shrugged. “That she’s sick and was told to stay home and get some bed rest.”

  “For weeks?” he asked, brow raised.

  “What can I say? Our neighbors are either old, high, or don’t give a damn so we’re getting away with the lie for now.”

  “You better hope it stays that way.” His lips twitched in a grin as he added, “You know, I have noticed that you’ve seemed a little perkier lately. Part of me held out hope she’d come back sober or something, but I guess that’d be too lucky, huh?”

  Lucky, or convenient. Not sure I’d even believe it if Mom miraculously came back home sober and ready to turn over a new leaf. I more or less expected her to come crawling back with some new loser on her arm, swearing to take care of her for two weeks before she became too needy and he left her. Then she’d get depressed, and her drinking would increase like it always did. She’d take her anger out on us, the apartment, destroy what few items were left whole, and probably run off again. Without her around, my days were brighter, in a weird twisted way I wasn’t sure I should enjoy so much.

  I probably did seem happier, though. Life was better when Mom was gone. When she was home, it was a nightmare. A holding her hair back for her every other night kind of nightmare. Helping her shower when she had one too many. Checking on her four times a night to make sure she didn’t throw up and drown in her mess because I had to be the one to worry about her so that Mason wouldn’t have to.

  Her being gone was just easier. I could breathe without feeling like I was drowning in the hurt and the bitterness she brought down on my head. Without her around, I could let myself imagine it had always been just me and Mason. No crazy, alcoholic Mom who made me want to pull my hair out and scream at how unfair the world was. When she was home, it was right there, in my face, a living nightmare that had no end in sight. I’d pinch myself, and the pain would remain, as well as whatever was happening. Her drunken screaming, telling me I was worthless, yelling at Mason until I’d finally yell back, and she’d storm off to her room.

  I hated that I would lay in bed every morning hoping I would wake up and she’d be gone again, maybe for good this time. With her gone, Mason didn’t have to see our mom, slowly fading away from alcoholism. I didn’t have to see it.

  Her government assistance checks still came in the mail, and I cashed them. If she had been home, those checks would have gone straight to booze instead of rent, or the other bills my money didn’t cover. Hell, I doubted she even realized I worked when she was around.

  If she ever came back, she’d get drunk and scream at me for being a dropout and a bum, for living on her dime, even if I paid for a good portion of everything.

  I glanced
up to see Jensen watching me with a worried frown.

  “You keep doing that, you’re going to make those wrinkles of yours worse.”

  His eyes narrowed before he gave a loud belly laugh that had me smiling, too despite my depressing mood all of a sudden. He was my closest friend, especially since I had dropped out.

  I never had many friends beforehand, and when I left school, no one came to check on me, or called. Jensen was the only one there for me now, and I wasn’t sure I could ever explain how much it meant to me, him just caring.

  “I hate that you dropped out of school.” Jensen said, as if reading my mind, his face grim. “You know, it’s not too late to go back.”

  “I’ll have my GED before you know it.”

  “There’s a home in my neighborhood for kids—”

  “Don’t,” I cut him off, sharper than I meant to, and hung my head. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but you know how dangerous that could be for us. I don’t want to get us dragged into the system, and you know that. I’ll be eighteen in less than a year. I can file for custody of Mason then. I just have to keep my head down and not draw attention to the current situation.”

  Jensen huffed, and I waited for him to keep arguing with me, but he didn’t push the issue, for once.

  An hour later, he glanced around and nodded at a job well done. “Looks like we’re done here. I’ll close up shop, so you can be sure to catch that last bus ride home.”

  “Thanks, Jensen,” I said, and headed towards the janitor supply room to put my cart up.

  I doubled back and gave him a hug for being a shoulder I could lean on, and letting me split a few minutes early. He didn’t like the idea of my walking several blocks home at night in this crummy city, and neither did I.

  I got to the bus stop just in time, and took the final bus home. My stop was a relatively short distance from our apartment, and I was thankful for that. I would always walk quickly whenever I came home late; there were several known drug dealers in our neighborhood, but everyone knew there was worse than that.

  A few gang members and other thugs who leered at anyone passing by. A few of their younger recruit shitheads jumped me once, but thankfully I hadn’t had a dime on me, not that I made it easy for them to figure that part out.

  I had stabbed one of them in the arm with the keys to our apartment, so I could get away, screaming at the top of my lungs until I scared the bastards off. His mama had the nerve to come banging on our door the next morning saying I assaulted her son. My mom’s response to that had been throwing up on the woman’s shoes. The one time I hadn’t minded watching Mom puke her guts up.

  Those idiots had left me alone since then, but I was still nervous. The younger ones might not want to mess with me, but there were plenty of older guys who hung around that I could not take on with a pathetic key as a weapon.

  The street light above me flickered, and a shiver ran down my spine as fear crept into my mind; I was still about three blocks away from home.

  Poor Mason was probably either passed out on the couch, or was waiting up for me worried about how late it was and wondering why I wasn’t home yet.

  I picked up the pace. Something about that flickering streetlight made me feel like it was a bad omen.

  I told myself to stop being paranoid, but I should’ve listened to my gut.

  As soon as a turned a corner, I heard a vehicle speeding on the road ahead of me. A light blue car whizzed by, jumping the curb and nearly side-swiping me. I leapt to the side with a yelp, tumbling over the sidewalk to avoid getting hit head-on.

  I cursed, my elbow and hip throbbing from where I hit the cement, but at least I was alive. I staggered to my feet, stunned, and checked myself for any other injuries as the car continued down the road.

  “Drunk asshole!” I screamed after the car, picking up a broken bottle nearby and chucking it down the street. “Cause I don’t have enough problems in my life, huh?”

  I shouted a few more profanities at the car’s back bumper as it disappeared. I looked around for a second car, thinking maybe the idiot had been racing, judging from the way he had been driving, but the road was dead silent.

  “Whatever, jackass,” I shouted, but the car was long gone.

  I continued my route home, thankful I had not been flattened. The scrapes on my elbow stung, and I limped as the pain in my hip increased. I’d be sporting some pretty bruises in the morning.

  I turned the corner, wishing I could run to get home, but my hip hurt too much to run.

  I froze.

  Down the long street ahead I saw two headlights in the distance.

  It was the same car again.

  My stomach dropped, and I glanced around, hoping for someone, anyone else to be around, but I was alone.

  The engine revved in the distance, sounding more like a beast ready to eat me alive than a car. The driver slammed on the gas, and it started my way.

  “Oh, come on,” I uttered, not ready to believe this was happening a second time.

  He was trying to hit me, and he had come back around since he had missed the first time. I was sure of it. Not even certain why I was so convinced of that.

  A million things went through my head. Like, was I going to die? Why would someone want to run me down? Was he some creepy serial killer, and I was about to become one of his statistical kills?

  I turned on my heels and ran—ran with more power than I had ever run before, ignoring my hip screaming in pain, and my lungs burning, as I sucked in air.

  A good distance behind me, tires squealed and spun. I couldn’t outrun a car.

  Lungs begging for relief, and legs sore from the incredible sprint, I knew I was going to die.

  This psychopath, whoever he was, had picked me out for whatever reason.

  I closed my eyes, tucked my head down and braced for impact.

  “Are you insane?” a male voice shouted, and hands suddenly grabbed me, and swung me around hard.

  My feet came out from under me, and the two of us fell backward into the alleyway just as the car zoomed past.

  I landed on a hard body with an “oomph,” as whoever saved me cursed and sputtered.

  The driver, in an attempt to still run us down, overcorrected and went straight into a telephone pole, and the car scrunched up in a smoky and crumpled up mess.

  A body exploded out of the windshield at the time of impact, and I grimaced when it didn’t move again.

  Smoke rose up from the hood, and the passenger’s door was thrown violently open.

  I tried to see more, but the hands that pulled me to safety shoved me protectively behind him again, and I had to strain my neck to peer around him.

  A second person fell to the pavement, growling like an animal, pulled himself to his feet using the car, and took off into the darkness.

  “Think you’re safe,” the guy said, and finally turned to face me.

  Words of thanks died in my throat as I blinked several times, wondering if I hit my head and this was all a dream.

  All I could do was stare numbly back at this guy and wonder why someone like him would risk his life to save someone like me.

  His brow furrowed in worry, and he gently reached out, running his palm over my head.

  “You hurt? Hey, can you hear me?”

  He snapped his fingers in front of my eyes and the moment was broken, but in those seconds, I was able to admire his beautiful voice.

  He reminded me of something straight out of one of Mason’s cheesy anime flicks; one of those devilishly handsome types. I was digging it despite the near-death experience.

  I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yeah, yeah I’m good I think. Just some cuts. You?”

  “I’ll live.” His hand fell from my head and gently held my chin, tilting my face to the left and right to catch what little light there was from the street.

  I usually was not one for being touched by a strange guy in the middle of an alleyway, but as he studied my face look
ing for injuries, it gave me a chance to check him out.

  He had long blond hair that wrapped back behind his ears and eyes that looked like some sort of blue crystal. He was gorgeous. Unreal. And he just saved my life.

  “Thank you,” I breathed. “I—uh, I have no idea what was going on with that asshole. And he’s, oh God, he’s dead, isn’t he?” I stood and stared at the car and the dead man on the hood. “Shit! This is bad, isn’t it?”

  He stood beside me and opened his mouth to reply, but we were interrupted by another male voice calling out, making me jump with a curse of alarm.

  “Slade,” a voice called from the alley. “Man, we got to go.”

  I looked at him.

  Slade. His name was Slade, really?

  He didn’t look like he wanted to leave, and shifted on his feet. “You going to be okay?”

  “I think so, but I have to report this, right?”

  He glared at the dead man, and I swore a growl escaped his mouth as his hands curled into fists. “You should leave him to rot.”

  I’d never heard someone speak with so much hate before and it left me speechless.

  “Slade! We don’t have time for this shit! Let’s move, or I’m leaving your ass behind!”

  He cursed under his breath and backed down the alley, deeper into the shadows. “Look out for yourself,” he called to me, spun on his heel, and darted into the shadows.

  The sound of his steps disappeared, and I was left standing at the entrance to the alleyway, my brain struggling to process what the hell just happened.

  I stumbled out into the street, moving towards the car before shock hit me hard and my knees gave out.

  I didn’t own a cell phone, no money in the budget for that, and managed to scream a few times for help.

  Lights popped on in several windows, and several doors opened as people ran outside, pointing and muttering at the car.

  “Hey. Are you okay?” Someone was running toward me from a nearby apartment. “Hon? Can you hear me? What happened?”

  I managed to mutter something about the car trying to hit me, and the older woman knelt beside me, yelling for someone to call 9-1-1.